


You Go To My Head

by Teahunting



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (again I live in hope), (at least I hope it's mysterious), Action/Adventure, Gen, Mystery, Post-Season/Series 02, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6211216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teahunting/pseuds/Teahunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post Season 2 Agent Carter fic, picking up right where Hollywood Ending left off.</p><p>Jack is down and Peggy is on Daniel’s lap. Angie wants her friend back, a mysterious man has a mysterious folder and Dottie is AWOL. And that’s only the start of the problems…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Pull yourself together man,_ Jack Thompson ordered himself. By the blood pooling on the floor around him, he knew he was on the verge of losing the slim chance he had left of survival. Clutching his stained tie close to the wound in some approximation of a bandage, he dragged himself over to the phone and dialled.

“Hello?” _Carter? She sounds…perky._

“Marge?” _Great, Jack. Piss her off when you’re dying._

“…What do you want, Jack?”

“Got shot. Dying. Bad.” He wheezed out, struggling for every breath.

“Shit. Jack, we’re coming. Hold on.”

_Damn, I’ve never heard a lady swear like that before. Well, I have, but she was naked at the time…_

Jack cursed his internal monologue as he finally succumbed to his wound.

~

Agent Peggy Carter was not a particularly emotional woman, by all accounts. But something about the twinkle in Sousa’s eye and the words coming out of his mouth had left her with no choice other than to give him what for. ‘What for’, in this case, taking the form of an exceptionally long and passionate kiss.

She was still sat on his lap when the phone in Sousa’s office rang. _Bloody nuisance it is too, getting in the way of a perfectly good snog._ She untangled herself and took a breath before picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

The voice down the phone sounded pained. “Marge?”

_Hmmm._ “What do you want, Jack?”

“Got shot.” _Balls._

 “Dying. Bad.” _Balls and buggery._

“Shit. Jack, we’re coming. Hold on.” She gestured to Sousa to grab his crutch, as she heard the unmistakeable sound of the phone being dropped on the other end. She hung up and immediately began dialling for an ambulance.

“Daniel, Thompson’s been shot. Where’s the paper with his hotel on it?” She near tore the paper in her rush to grab it, and barely remembered to fix the lipstick smeared across both their faces before they rushed out.

~

The man with the black gloves watched through binoculars as the blonde man was loaded into an ambulance by harried paramedics. He paid little attention to them, however, as his focus switched to the brunette woman stood nearby, hands on hips as she directed agents to sweep the hotel. Her face was pale despite her LA tan, and he felt the glimmer of some alien emotion as he watched her.

He slid the binoculars back into his briefcase where they sat snugly against the stolen file. There was no point in wasting any more time here. He had what he had come for.


	2. Chapter 2

Peggy and Sousa sat in silence in the hospital room. Thompson was stable, but still critically injured – the bullet had broken ribs and punctured his lung, but the doctors had just about managed to put him back together again - though it was anyone’s guess as to when he’d wake up. All that was left to do was wait.  

“You’re going back to New York.” It wasn’t a question.

“Daniel, you know I’d love to stay here with you, but someone-“

“-needs to find out what happened. And hold down the fort back in New York, too.” Sousa knew her too well. He took her hand, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. “Look, I’ll still be here when you’re done. Maybe – if you’re interested – you can transfer to the LA office later on. But Thompson’s being transferred to a hospital back East pretty soon, and New York needs you, Peggy.”

“I wasn’t asking you to convince me to go. But I am a little concerned. We have precious little to go on, at least until Thompson wakes up, and the attack was out here, so” Sousa held up a hand. “If anything comes up, I’ll call you.” He smiled to himself and scratched his neck. “Heck, even if nothing comes up, I’ll still call you.”

Peggy almost blushed. Almost. She nodded and stood up to get them each a hot drink and make a phone call. It appeared she would need that lift to the airport from Jarvis, after all.

~

For all his colleagues’ vigil, Jack Thompson woke up on the medical plane somewhere above the Midwest. His disorientation and drowsiness (coupled with the panicked swing he took at the nearest doctor) meant that he was soon unconscious again – this time, however, from a hasty administration of sedative.

When he woke up again, it was to the distinct sound of a drink being slurped. He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the light and the tube protruding from his chest. “Ladylike.” _God, I sound like shit. My mouth feels like something’s crawled in and died, too._

If Carter had been worried about him, she didn’t let on. “You’re awake,” she commented, taking another noisy sip from her mug. Jack appraised her. She looked immaculate as ever, though her makeup wasn’t quite capable of hiding the faint shadows under her eyes. “Don’t get too emotional about it, Carter. And where’s my drink? My throat is killing me.”

To her credit, Carter did set her mug down and pour a glass of water for him. She even helped him sit up to sip it without a hint of condescension. _Aw, she does care._ “How’s the office? I thought you were taking more vacation.” She paused to retrieve her drink before answering. “I was, and then you got shot by persons yet unknown. Someone had to hold down the office with you out of commission.”

Jack snorted, then winced at the pain sent shooting through his chest. Carter made to get a doctor, but he waved dismissively. “I’m fine, Marge. How did the boys take to you bossing them around?”

She stared into her tea. _That was definitely a smirk._ “Surprisingly well, though that may have had more to do with the fact you were down. And the fact that they’re almost used to it by now.” After a longer (and significantly quieter) sip, she fixed him with a piercing stare. “I need to ask you what you remember of the attacker.”

Jack shook his head. “You won’t have much luck, I didn’t see their face. I opened the door and there was a gun with a silencer attached, the gunman was aiming from round the corner. I know he was wearing black gloves and he moved very quietly. And he – shit.” He frowned. “He took the file. The one you said was a fake. I was going to have a proper read of it when I got back to the office.”

“Why would he want a forged file? It’s not of any use to him. And how, exactly, were you going to ‘have a proper read’ of a heavily redacted file?”

“Ways and means, Marge. You’re not the only one with funny gadgets and gizmos. And I’m not sure the file is a fake. For all it was convenient in its availability, my contact had to break a lot of security protocols to get hold of it. Besides, if it was a worthless fake, I wouldn’t have had a hole punched in my chest. And it does have ‘Agent M. Carter’ and ‘massacre’ in the same paragraph. There are a lot of people who don’t much like you.” He watched as she put her empty mug on the table nearby, deep in thought.

“I was always referred to as M.E. Carter in the files, so we now know that it’s either an excruciatingly sloppy forgery, or it’s about someone else – someone who also didn’t want you reading it.” She stood to leave. “I’d better get back to the office. I don’t know if it’ll help much, but I’m still in contact with some old S.O.E. members. I’ll see if they have any ideas. You rest up, I’ll keep you in the loop until you’re well enough to come back. And don’t you dare come back against doctor’s orders.”

Jack smirked at that. “Yes Carter, because that’s exactly what you would have done after a life-threatening injury.” He could practically hear her eyes rolling as she walked past the incoming doctors.

Peggy stood at the curb, waiting for a cab to pull up. Her gut was twisting in all manner of uncomfortable ways as her mind flitted to the possibility that _maybe she did know who M. Carter was_ – except that was utter nonsense, wasn’t it? _People don’t come back from the dead, Peggy._ She pushed the thought away as she gave the driver directions. Hopefully there would be a lead back at the office.

~

The pretty blonde woman looked up from the costume she was fixing to smile at her companion. “You know, Stella, maybe you should get out more. All of you, actually. God knows you train hard enough. Maybe you should put it to good use and go dancing sometime.” Stella, the redhead to whom the tutu belonged, shook her head. “Believe me, Izzy, we would if we could. But with a curfew like ours and a reputation to uphold…” She sighed. “But what about you, eh? What happened to that guy?”

Izzy concentrated very hard on the rhinestones she was re-attaching to the bodice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stella fixed her with a knowing look. “Honey, you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. The blonde fella, nice suit, nice shoulders? Sits at the end of the bar and broods into his bourbon? He seemed to have taken quite a shine to you. Where’s he gone?”

Try as she might, Izzy felt a little heat rise in her cheeks. “I’ll never know how you manage to pick up on so much in the audience whilst you’re dancing, Stella. And no, there’s no gossip. He hasn’t been in the past few weeks at all, I don’t know why. Though I think he’d mentioned LA. Or complained, rather. Apparently he can’t stand to be that far away from a decent pizza.” She smirked as she tied off her thread. “There. Good as new – or close enough. I’ll never know why they don’t fix the stones on better in the first place. They do know what ballet is, right?” Stella continued to tease her as she put her sewing box away. “Oh you know businessmen. Anything to make you spend more money, huh. And I’m sure you’re right that there’s no gossip – though you sure know plenty about his favourite food. And you agree that he’s a dish.” She received a cheerful smack upside the head with a cushion for that one, followed by an indignant “I did not!” The redhead laughed as she sauntered off to her dressing room.

Finishing off the tidying, Izzy made her way back to the bar. As always, it needed restocking. She looked forward to the day she would arrive to a fully-prepared bar at the start of a shift. As she worked, she couldn’t help but wonder _actually, where was he?_ As much as she denied it to her dancing friends, he _had_ been walking her home after late shifts for a month or two before he left, and she was a little worried. She knew he was in law enforcement, and she’d deduced from his vagueness that he was also some kind of Fed. But he’d been so sure he would only be a couple days gone, and she mentally kicked herself for not getting his number when she had the chance. And kicked herself again for wanting his number in the first place.

Bar fully stocked, she headed home for a few hours before her late shift. Some people ( _okay, a lot of people_ ) thought it improper for a lady to work behind a bar – especially in a place with the reputation of the Follies – but the boss liked her, which meant the other men treated her well. And she was in the perfect position to keep an eye on the 28 ladies of the Brooklyn Ballet Company. Besides, it wasn’t a permanent position.


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy sighed as she put the phone down. None of her old S.O.E. colleagues that she’d spoken to knew anything about the file, nor who this ‘M. Carter’ could have possibly been. On the bright side, a few of them had promised to look into it on their ends – Peggy wasn’t the only one to have ended up in a governmental position after the war.

With a cursory glance at the clock, she picked up her bag and left Thompson’s office. Through some unspoken mutual agreement, she was temporarily chief of the East Coast SSR, and she made sure to check in with the other agents’ progress. Though there were no new leads, she took care to compliment good detective work and suggest improvements on that which was… lacking. Though it was only temporary, she wanted to make damn sure the other agents liked her as a boss.

She checked a piece of paper as she hailed a cab. The final contact lived nearby, and she preferred to make this trip in person. Besides, she could use a decent cup of tea. As she climbed the stairs to her destination, she could hear music coming from above her. She stopped in front of a door, smiling to note the music was coming from behind it. She rapped on the wood and stood back as a familiar blonde head appeared. “Peggy! You didn’t tell me you were coming over, I’d have baked!” Peggy was half pulled into the other woman’s flat and a not-entirely-unwelcome hug. She kicked the door shut behind her and laughed. “I’m sure I can survive without a slice of cake this time, ‘Bel.” Bel pulled back and studied her friend’s face. “Hmm. Tea, or something stronger?”

Peggy shook her head. “Tea for now, thank you. Though I may crack open the whiskey later, if you don’t mind.”

Bel busied herself putting the kettle on and the tea tray ready. “Peg, you know I only keep the stuff for you and other guests. You can have as much as you want of it – provided you don’t pass out or bring it all back up over the furniture.” The last part was said with a teasing grin.

Despite her indignation, Peggy returned the grin. “Bloody Nora Bel, that was one time! And I was far less… accustomed to it back then.”

“Whatever you say, Peg.” She carried the tray over to the coffee table and poured the drinks. “Now, how have you been? How was LA? I get the feeling this isn’t an entirely social visit, or you’d have called. And brought Angie with you, too.” Peggy sipped the tea she was handed. She hadn’t been completely sure her housemate would get along with her sister-in-law, but she needn’t have worried. Bel’s love of music and Angie’s thespian ambitions had given them an instant common ground.

“You’re quite right. I’ll come over with Angie soon though. She wants your opinion on a couple of songs she’s considering for audition pieces. Speaking of music, are you sure you’ve got that gramophone loud enough?”

The blonde gave her a meaningful look. “I was making phone calls. You want me to turn it down a little? I figured you’d like the background noise.”

“Well yes, but I’ve already got a headache coming on, so maybe a little quieter?” Bel got up to lower the volume and grab some aspirin. “One of _those_ days, eh? I know the feeling. Come on then, spill.”

Peggy accepted the tablets, and recounted the tale of the attack on her boss, including the few details of the missing file. By the time she was done, Bel looked pensive. “I know Michael used to liaise with the S.O.E. before he- you know,” they exchanged a look, “which is how we both got our recommendations. I seem to recall one time he told someone to put his name in place of some junior agent – the agent had cocked up, and Michael felt like it was his fault, so he took the flak.” They both smiled at that – it was a very Michael thing to do. “But I can’t imagine they’d do that after he died, and I don’t recall any other Carters in the S.O.E – certainly not an M. You were the only one of those. So unless there was something they needed to cover up so badly they’d use a dead man’s name – which is more likely given this file got someone shot – it’s fake.”

Peggy set down her tea and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know. Like you say, it’s real enough to get someone shot. And even if Thompson is a bit of an arse, he didn’t deserve that.” She picked up her refilled cup – she and Bel were kindred spirits when it came to the importance of tea in their lives. “I can’t help the errant thought that maybe…”

Bel nodded, playing with a ring that hung on a chain round her neck. “I know, Peg. I had the same thought. But he died years ago – and even if he hadn’t, we both know Michael would have never shot an innocent person, let alone get involved in a _massacre_.” She reached over and squeezed her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Now then, let’s change the subject. How was LA? And don’t play coy with me missy, I definitely just saw your ears go pink…”

~

It was a moderately quiet night at the Follies, meaning Isabella had plenty of time to mull over her earlier conversation with Peggy. The two of them tended to avoid talking about the particulars of their work, sticking to office gossip, complaints about their pig-headed co-workers and the like. Still, she was glad she’d been brought up to speed on this latest development. She smiled, thinking of how happy Peggy was to have a new romance in her life too. _Wouldn’t mind one of my own, either. It’s been long enough._

“Hey Goldilocks, be a good girl and pour us a bourbon? You can daydream all you want after, doll.” She looked up to see a young man, dark hair, well dressed, waving a couple of bills at her. The regulars either side of him were tense, ready to jump in if she asked. She ignored them, and leaned on the bar as she spoke to the man.

“Well, _sunshine_ , you appear to be new to these parts” she began, her impeccable Brooklyn accent sickeningly sweet. “So I’ll go easy on you. You see, _doll_ , I run this bar, and if you speak to me like that, you most certainly won’t get served. Not by me, not by anyone.” She took the bills from his hand and went to pour his drink. “But since you’ve so generously tipped me,” she brandished the money in her hand, “I won’t have the regulars rip you to shreds. We clear?” She smiled innocently as she passed him his drink. His face had turned an interesting puce shade, and he stalked away from the bar to his companions with far less swagger than he’d approached it with.

“Ted,” she turned to the well-built gentleman in the doorway, “Make sure the girls are aware of him. He’s a creep and I don’t want them anywhere near his slime.” Her boss glared at the young man’s back. “Way ahead of you, Izzy.” She smiled appreciatively and poured him his usual brandy. Ted was an unusual mobster. She’d heard rumours he was a queer, but she didn’t want to pry. She certainly knew he treated all the women of the Follies, regardless of their - _ahem_ \- job description, with utmost respect, and kept an iron grip on the activities of his men.

It was thanks to Ted that she was working at the Follies to begin with. He’d arranged a meeting with the FBI over some concerns he had regarding some of his performers. As it so happened, the FBI had wanted to send someone in to investigate too, and so an agreement had been made. Isabella worked the bar and befriended the ladies. If she was discovered, she was there to investigate the mob activities that took place in the bar. In reality, however, she was constructing detailed profiles of the ballerinas. After all, it made sense. There had been large studios in the facility in Russia, several of which had barres. And what better way was there to transport a large number of young, attractive, highly trained and highly disciplined women across countries without appearing suspicious? The final piece of the puzzle had come from something that had been incompletely wiped from a chalkboard. With some difficulty, they had deciphered it as “I am one of 28 ballerinas… The training is… and the love of my family make up for it.” It was incomplete, but sufficient for the FBI to make it their priority to locate any and all ballet companies with 28 ballerinas. And there was one right under their noses.

Naturally, the FBI were extremely wary. They had been having enough trouble with one highly-trained Russian assassin; no-one was brave or stupid enough to confront 28 Dorothy Underwoods. So they did what they could, sending Isabella undercover whilst they continued to hunt for Dottie. She had been here for just under six months, compiling detailed profiles of the girls – appearance, mannerisms, tells and any other identifying details that would be difficult for any one of them to change for a mission. If they couldn’t arrest the 28, they could at least make sure they knew what to look for. Isabella was in some ways glad of the mission. She knew it was bloody dangerous – but hey, at least here she wasn’t looked down on like she was in the office. Who knew mobsters could be nicer than the Feds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Next up, Jack is back - and so is another familiar face. (I know, I know, there’s been a lot of set-up this chapter. But the strands will come together. They always do, don’t they…)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is back - and so are a couple other familiar faces.

Thompson was out of the hospital after two weeks, with strict orders to rest for at least two months. Naturally, he ignored the advice, and after a trip home to freshen up and shave, he was on his way to the SSR. He had tried to ignore the cane he had been provided with, but after discovering the elevator in his block was out of order, he found himself leaning on it heavily every few steps up. _God, Susan would have a field day if he saw this. Just as well he’s out west._

His arrival was greeted with applause and handshakes, good-to-have-you-backs and hope-you’re-doing-wells. Carter was stood by his office, her hands on her hips and a look on her face that reminded him of a schoolmarm. He waved her into his office, following behind and moving to sit behind his desk. He had barely sat down before she started.

“I thought you were supposed to be signed off work, Thompson. We can’t have you collapsing in here because you overdid it.”

“Says the woman who was back at work a day after getting impaled.” He shot her a look. Carter at least had the decency to look sheepish at that one. “Jack, you were shot in the chest. Your lung collapsed – you damn near died! At least my injury didn’t hit anything major!”

“Peggy, I know. But I’ve been sat doing nothing for two weeks already, and if I have to do that for another two weeks, I’m going to lose my mind. I promise you I’m not going to overexert myself. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through, and if I’m in the office then I’m in the loop of what’s going on with the cases.” He gestured for her to sit down, and she did so, looking slightly less irritated.

“Now then, fill me in. Any leads on this file?”

Carter’s look of irritation returned instantly. She filled him in what little she had discovered. “It appears the trail is cold right now – at least, until my contacts get back to me. And I don’t know how long that might take.” Jack nodded and exhaled slowly. His chest still ached somewhat, and he knew damn well he would be confined to desk work for the foreseeable future. No matter. “Well then. What else do we have to look into? Have you got anything on that key?”

“I’ve been rather preoccupied with figuring out who tried to kill you, Thompson, the key was something of an afterthought.” Peggy held out the Arena club pin to him nonetheless. Jack took it back from her and twisted it open. “Aw, Marge, you do care. But since that case is temporarily cold, you should probably focus on this. Though I’m not entirely sure how well you’ll fare, considering the Arena Club’s requirements and how quickly they wanted to shut you down last time you and Susan got close.” Jack studied her face carefully when he mentioned Sousa. If there was something going on between the two of them, she didn’t show it on her face.

“Well no. But after what happened with Frost and Masters, Sousa’s managed to get a warrant to look round the LA branch of the Club. He’ll call if he finds anything.” Jack smirked at her. “Sure you don’t want to take those vacation days now? I’m back on my feet, I can take care of things here. And you two make a good team – you certainly sounded cheerful when I phoned Sousa’s office.”

Carter _definitely_ flushed at that jab. _Damn, Daniel. I didn’t think you had the nerve._ Jack seized the moment. “So…who kissed who first?” He grinned. He’d never seen Peggy flustered – frankly, he didn’t think she was the type to get flustered. But hey, he never let a good opportunity to tease her slide. “ _Not_ that it’s any of your business,” she started. Jack shook his head at her. “Aw, come on Marge, why’d you think I sent you in particular out there? Just call me Cupid, you can thank me later.” He winked at her as she rolled her eyes. “I will point out you still owe me a bourbon for the bank job, Thompson. And this isn’t a conversation for the office.”

She had him there. Still, he could make the most of it. “Alright, alright. If he’s that bad a kisser you need a drink to talk about it, I’ll buy you a drink. But we do have other things to worry about too. Dottie Underwood is also on the loose. And before you ask, I’m positive it was a male who shot me. Miss Underwood wouldn’t have left me alive.”

~

Miss Underwood rubbed at her hair with a towel, now somewhat shorter and back to a light blonde colour. She was waiting for her contact in a hotel room that was pleasant, but fairly dingy nonetheless. She had managed to lift a wallet or two, and had swapped her ball gown for clothing a little more practical and inconspicuous.

For all Peggy’s bravado, Dottie _had_ been contacted by someone working for the Russians. She had been ordered to change her appearance and await further contact at this very hotel. However much she may have feigned indifference, it was reassuring to know she hadn’t been completely abandoned by her country. Or Leviathan. She wasn’t sure which she was more loyal to at this point. She had never bothered to develop a moral compass. Or maybe, she’d been trained not to have one. It hardly mattered.

At the tap on the door, she dropped her towel on the bed and walked over. She tapped lightly back in the sequence she’d been given. The knock replied in kind, and she opened the door warily to see a figure in a suit that was slightly too big for him, judging from the way it hung on his shoulders. He had a black scarf wrapped around his face and leather gloves on his hands, despite the dry LA heat.

He nodded to her as he walked in. His gait was somewhat military, upright but predatory. His eyes swept the room before he set his briefcase down on the bed. He turned to her, holding out a single sheet of paper. “Read and memorise. Your new cover.” Dottie took the sheet of paper and scanned it. She smiled slightly to see she would be returning to New York. _I’m coming for you, Peg. You can’t win every time, you know._ Once finished, she handed it back, and he filed it away before holding out a package. She opened it cautiously.

“These are your papers. There is a change of clothes. You will find a suitcase of personal effects waiting for you at the address on the red-backed card. Your flight leaves at 11.30am tomorrow. I will be in contact soon.” The man left as quickly as he had arrived, and Dottie stared after him curiously. His scarf had slipped down for a brief moment while he was rummaging through his case, and she felt as if she half-recognised him. _Perhaps he worked at the school. Yes, that must have been it._ She turned back to the items spread across the blankets, and got to work.

~

Peggy arrived home that night to the sound of a piano playing and a bright, sweet voice in the air. She smiled as she headed toward the music.

_“Is it a sin, is it a crime, loving you dear like I do? If it’s a crime then I’m guilty, guilty of loving you…”_

Angie faltered as she saw her housemate walk in. “Peg, you’re back! I invited Bel round for dinner. What do you think? I’m auditioning for Oklahoma, am I more of an Ado Annie or an Aunt Aggie?”

Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but was beaten to the punch by Bel at the piano. “Oh no, I’d say you’re a Laurey, for sure. They’d be mad not to cast you!” Peggy nodded her agreement as she set her bag down and sat to pull off her heels. “I’d have to agree with Bel, Angie. You say no far too readily to make a convincing Annie. What’s for dinner?”

Angie blushed from the compliments. “Nothing too special. There’s a stew on, and Bel brought dessert. Between the lemon meringue pie and the amaretto my Nanna sent me, we can have a swell time.” Bel perked up at that, taking off her reading glasses. “Your Nanna’s Italian too, isn’t she? Thank God – you just can’t get decent amaretto over here. And don’t get me started on the wine…”

“We won’t, Bel. Come on you two, stew’s ready. English, you set to eat or you got business?” Despite both her friends hailing from England, Angie only ever referred to Peggy as English. Apparently Bel’s Italian mother disqualified her from the label. The trio headed through to the kitchen for dinner and an evening which, if previous such evenings were anything to go by, would be a whole lot of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. A couple of notes on this chapter: First of all, the song Angie is singing is called 'Guilty' by Margaret Whiting (you know, the one who sang 'Oh, But I Do', the song from Hollywood Ending). I have been listening to a lot of music from the Forties while writing this story - all courtesy of MusicProf78 on Youtube (they have a HUGE collection of popular music from back in the day and it's fantastic). I highly recommend looking them up if you want extra authenticity. (Speaking of, I envision that Isabella had A-Tisket, A-Tasket by Chick Webb/Ella Fitzgerald on when Peggy visited. You can find that on Youtube too. It's in the 1938 playlist.)  
> Secondly, before anyone gets curious, the musical Oklahoma! originally premiered on Broadway in 1943, and ran until 1948. Since this story is set in March 1947 (assuming S1 ended on about the 9th May just after VE Day and S2 was Feb/March 1947 given it's hot in LA and sleet in NYC), it's entirely possible that the musical would have been having a cast change for its final year on Broadway (actors tending to stay in roles for about a year before moving on).
> 
> That's new too - me doing research for a fanfic? Wow, I must be committed. Let's hope it stays that way!
> 
> And finally - it's my birthday weekend (I turn 21 on Monday), so my chapter schedule will be slower. But there will be more for you come next week, I promise. Have a lovely weekend everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But there will be more for you come next week, I promise..."  
> Ha.  
> Hahaha.  
> Ha.
> 
> I'm a bit useless, I know. I had a good 21st though,and then got bogged down with exams and whatnot. My apologies.  
> So here is the next chapter, if anyone is so inclined. (Though you may want to re-read from the start, refresh your memory. I know I certainly did...whoops.)

The next evening was the Follies Club’s monthly Culture Night. In its everyday business, the club played host to cabaret and burlesque acts of varying legality, along with some decidedly illicit business transactions. Once a month, however, it cleaned up its act and accepted only the best and most refined performers, including – as always – the ladies of the Brooklyn Ballet. These nights were wildly popular, with various members of the New York glitterati reserving seats at the club’s tables. Howard Stark was a regular patron.

Though she had her priorities, Isabella very much enjoyed these nights. The production values were higher, and she received fewer curious looks for doing her job. Not to mention the significantly more generous tips that were pressed into her hands, and the smiles that were prevalent on the usually-grim-faced bouncers. She watched with some level of pride as Stella led the company in their opening dance, the freshly-stitched rhinestones on her costume glittering as she pirouetted and leapt across the stage. She was too entranced to notice a familiar figure limp across the room to his usual seat by the bar.

“Wishing you were up there, Iz?” She turned with a start at her favourite regular’s teasing tone.

“Nah. I’m not much of a dancer. I prefer to hide behind a piano – or a bar. The usual?” Jack nodded, and she smiled as she poured him his bourbon. He sipped it gratefully, staring across the room. “How was LA? You were gone a while.”

“Ah, you know how it is. No rest for the wicked and all that. I’m glad to be back though, the heat out there is a nightmare.” Izzy surveyed him critically.

“You get yourself injured?” He drained his glass before answering her.

“Mmm. Gunshot wound. And before you ask, I’m fine and you don’t need to worry how much I drink.” She refilled his glass cautiously. “If you say so, Jack. But you ain’t walking me home on that. I can take care of myself, don’t you go out of your way to be a gentleman.” Their conversation was interrupted by applause, as the duo on stage took a bow, making way for the next performance. There was an interlude as the stagehands set up for the next group, and Izzy turned away to serve her other customers.

Jack sipped his bourbon as she walked off. He’d been a regular at the Follies for the past year or so, often dropping by late at night, after post-work drinks had wound down. He’d told himself he was there for the bourbon, not the babes (though no doubt they were a nice distraction), and because it was somewhere he was anonymous. Over time, though, he’d developed something of a soft spot for the blonde behind the bar, and he fancied she felt the same about him. Not that he’d ever let on. Her boss, Ted, was an intimidating fellow, fiercely protective of his young protégé. And there was the matter of the ring he’d seen hung round her neck a few times...

He fingered the pin in his pocket. Jack had taken to carrying the Arena Club pin around with him as a reminder of what he was fighting against. Since Masters’ body had never been found, he was working on the assumption he was still alive. He frowned to himself. Masters had been utterly corrupt, and he was one of his father’s best friends. _Christ, Pop. What the hell are you involved in?_ He almost wanted to return to his previous ignorance, but he knew that was impossible. Even if he could forget about it, he knew damn well Carter would chase the matter down the rabbit hole, and he worried for her safety. She may have been perfectly capable of holding her own in a fistfight ( _or any other kind of fight_ ), but manipulation and politicking were not her strong point, and these men could ruin her in ways she couldn’t punch her way out of. And yet… there was _still_ something off about the whole situation. If he could just figure out what he was missing...

His reverie was broken by the sound of an _exceedingly_  high pitched call to the girl behind the bar. “Izzy, Izzy, Izzy! You’ll never guess what Madame has said!” He looked to his left to see a pretty young redhead bouncing up and down against the bar. Her companions (both dark haired, equally pretty young women) were no less excited. He recognised the trio as part of the ballet. _Curious, they never leave the stage._ He watched as Izzy chatted to the girls. He only half wanted to listen in, but they were so loud he couldn’t help it. “Madame has given us permission to mingle in the audience! And on Monday we’re auditioning for a _musical_! On _Broadway_! It’s so _exciting_!”

Izzy beamed at them, clearly as happy for them as they were for themselves. “Oh Stella, my darling, that’s fantastic news! I’ll fix you some drinks. Do you know what musical you’re auditioning for yet?”

“Oklahoma! They’re doing a full cast change, and we might be in the chorus. There’s a big ol’ ballet in the middle of the musical, didn’t you know?” Jack fancied he saw a shadow cross Izzy’s face when they mentioned the name. “I did know actually,” she laughed. “I saw it back in ’45, it was wonderful. I especially liked that one song about the Surrey with a fringe on top. Oh, I do hope you all get cast!” She made up a tray with drinks and ice, and handed it over to the three girls, who skipped away, gossiping excitedly.

“Well they seem perky,” Jack commented dryly. Izzy shook her head at him. “They’re very green. They’ve never had a night out – all that training. Madame is something of an old battle-axe. I hope they don’t get too upset if they don’t get cast.” Jack finished off his second bourbon and held his glass out to her. She took it with a wary look. “Oh come _on_ Iz, I can handle my liquor. I’m a big boy.” As she handed the now-full glass back, she gazed at him. With anyone else, it would have been decidedly uncomfortable. As it was, he squirmed only slightly.

“Where’d you get shot?” He blinked at her question.

“Why, you worrying I’m gonna drop dead on you?” She played absentmindedly with a strand of hair as she replied. “No, just curious. You were gone a while and you come back with a cane, so..?”

He nodded his understanding. “Chest. Right hand side. Got my lung. Fortunately, I have a second one.” She frowned at him in what might have been concern. Then again, it might have been exasperation. Much like with Carter, it was difficult to tell the difference between the two sometimes. He raised his glass to her. “Besides, this is my last for the night. The elevator in my apartment block is broken, and I’m on the fifth floor.”

Izzy’s face softened slightly. _Definitely concern._ “Sounds like I should be walking _you_ home, Jack. I could help you on the stairs if you want,” she threw him a teasing glance, “that is, if you’re not too _manly_ to have a bit of help from a girl.” The corner of Jack’s mouth curved up a little as he shook his head. “Nah, kid. If I’m not allowed to go out of my way to walk you back, you can’t do the same for me.” _And there’s exasperation. Noted._

“Jack, I only meant-“

“I know, I know. Strangely enough, I was teasing. If you want to walk with me, you can. Ball’s in your court.”

Izzy watched him for a moment longer before shrugging. “I’m on a short shift tonight. If it ain’t raining out, I’ll walk you back. If it is, I’ll put you in a cab.” She cut his protests off. “Relax, I’ve gotten some big tips tonight, it ain’t coming out of my paycheck.” Jack couldn’t argue with that. He sipped his drink as she turned back to her other customers.

~

As it turned out, the rain didn’t start until they were halfway home. It wasn’t a light drizzle either – vast sheets of cold March rain, with a sprinkling of thunder and lightning to accompany it. Isabella batted at her hair as they stood beneath a theatre awning, hoping in vain the downpour would ease up a little. “God, my hair is gonna be an absolute bird’s nest. Bet you’re missing that LA sunshine now,” she teased her companion.

Jack scoffed, leaning on his cane. “Oh hell no, the heat makes me itch. I’d much rather get a bit cold and wet. Besides, the stairs at the end will warm me up in no time. And your hair looks fine Iz, stop fussing.”  Izzy scowled at him. “Yeah, that’s cos the water’s holding it down. Soon as it starts drying I’m gonna have a ball of cotton on my head. And you sure I shouldn’t call a cab? The cold can’t be good for your chest. I heard the wheezing, and you-” Jack held up a hand to cut her off. Izzy looked at him questioningly, following his gaze to see a shadowy figure lurking across the street from them. She pushed down her nerves. “He’s probably just after a hooker or something. There’s a lotta johns about this time of night. Nothing to do with us, ‘kay?” She put a hand on his shoulder, noting he had reached for his gun. Jack pulled his eyes away and smiled briefly at her. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But keep an eye out, if he follows us let me know.”

The rain seemed to ease off, so they made the most of it, walking as quickly as they could. As they neared his block, Jack stiffened slightly. He turned to face the figure that had unmistakeably been following the pair of them, automatically putting himself between them and his companion. “You alright there, pal?” He asked calmly, allowing a threatening note into his voice. He was almost relieved to see that it was a run-of-the-mill mobster, rather than someone he would have to explain to Izzy later. _That’d be one hell of a conversation. Hi, I’m Jack Thompson. I work for a top-secret government agency, and my hobbies include drinking too much, beating the shit out of suspects and getting shot at._ The man signalled behind him, and two other men peeled themselves out of the shadows. “Yeah, uh, we’d like a word with your girlfriend. Business matters, pal. You know how it is.”

Jack turned his head to gauge Izzy’s reaction. He took a little too long to do so, though, as he was suddenly shoved aside, overbalancing on his cane and toppling to the ground. He gasped for breath as the men grabbed Izzy, hauling her toward a nearby alley. He fumbled for his gun, clicking off the safety. When he looked back up, he almost dropped it in shock.

One man was already out cold against the wall, head lolling forwards. The second ran directly at her and she punched him out with ease. Jack thought he heard the crunch of a nose breaking. The final man avoided her fists, grabbing her from behind with an arm wrapped tight around her neck and lifting her short frame from the floor. Izzy struggled a little, her hands clutching his arm to give herself breathing space as her feet kicked for the ground. Jack took careful aim, ready to shoot given a clear shot. There was no need to worry. Izzy’s feet touched the ground and she tucked and rolled forward, using the bigger man’s weight against him. They crashed into the ground, the man’s face taking the brunt of the impact.

Izzy hauled herself up and walked toward him, straightening her coat and smoothing her skirt. Jack took her hand and heaved himself to his feet. “Christ, Iz, that was impressive. Where’d a nice girl like you learn to fight like that?” Izzy smiled awkwardly at him. “I was a bargirl during the war. I broke up so many brawls, I figured I should learn how to hold my own.” She paused, looking at the three unconscious men behind them. “We should get inside. Do you want to call the cops, or shall I just let Ted know next time I’m in?” They entered the block and headed toward the stairs. “Up to you. I can file a report tomorrow for you if you want. I doubt they’ll give you much grief after that little show, though. No man’s gonna be stupid enough to take you on after that.”

Jack found he was wheezing much quicker up the stairs tonight, too much so for Izzy to ignore. “You know Jack, I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’, but the weather has really done a number on you. I'll never know why you can't just take a cab every now and then...” He didn’t bother to reply, and focused instead on getting himself up the stairs, one at a time. Izzy moved to his cane side and took it from him, supporting him instead and pulling him a little as he pushed on up the stairs. (If Jack laid it on just a little bit, she didn’t comment.)

Eventually they reached his landing. Jack was looking significantly the worse for wear after the rain, the fall and the climb – though Izzy was also a sight, with her hair (as predicted) fluffy as a cloud and her clothes wet and dirtied from the fight outside. Jack unlocked his door and turned to her. “You fancy a drink after all that? I know, I know, you don’t like whiskey. I’ve got coffee too, if you’d prefer. Come in and dry off, at least.”

An hour later, and Izzy was ensconced in a cab home. Jack turned back from the window he watched her leave from, brows furrowed. Her fighting style had reminded him far too much of both Carter and Underwood to leave him comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - I already had this one written back in March, I just forgot about it (sorry)
> 
> It's a slightly fluffy piece of filler to set up the following events - and don't worry, Daniel Sousa makes a reappearance next chapter. I won't neglect him, I promise. It's simply that we all already know what Sousa is like (and he's still unfortunately over in LA) - but Iz is the new girl, and Jack's had a pretty life-altering injury. But we'll get back into it. I hope. I want to stretch my writing muscles again.
> 
> Until next time (and I promise it won't be so long this time round)  
>  ~ Georgia


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